


Fighting Crime is Overrated

by Monna99



Series: Shot in the Dark [2]
Category: Watchmen (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7271389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monna99/pseuds/Monna99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan didn't remember crime fighting being quite so painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fighting Crime is Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> Think I forgot to mention, this doesn't follow the timeline of the movie. Kinda messes with it.

There was a terrible pounding in his head. And it was dark. Hadn’t it been light just a moment ago?

“Daniel!” 

It took Nite Owl long seconds to get his bearings. He blinked to clear his head. No, it wasn’t really dark outside, that was just the polarization of his goggles combined with the deep shadows of the darkened warehouse. He was lying on something hard that was digging viciously into his kidneys. Dan tried rolling over and that’s when he realized a piece of rebar was sticking out of his gut. “Shit.” The pain whitened out his vision but at least it made things go hazy again for a while.

“Stay awake!”

He could make out other noises now, curses and the sound of wood splintering and labored breathing. He tried to call out but even the choppy gasps he was managing were excruciating. He listened and finally heard steps coming closer, followed by a heavy, dragging sound.

“Need to move you, Daniel.”

Rorschach. Of course. He never went on patrol with any of the others anymore. 

“Are you listening?”

He tried to respond, tried to lift his head but none of his muscles were obeying his commands. 

“Dan-” Rorschach whirled at sudden movement behind him, but not in time. There was a sickening, hollow-sounding thud as a piece of wood was brought down on the smaller man’s head.

“Rorschach?” 

He tried to stand, needed to help Rorschach but he was shoved back by a heavy boot to his chest. A sudden, shrill scream reverberated throughout the dead, cavernous building. Dan realized belatedly it was his. The dark figure leaning over him had grabbed and twisted the rebar, and was bracing to yank it out when a flash of darkness slammed into the man. There was a brutal, straining battle happening right above him. He heard Rorschach give a pained huff before the looming shadow of his attacker went suddenly and completely slack. The kind of slack that meant dead. Dan couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

He was starting to become more lucid, unfortunately that meant he was also acutely aware of the brand new accessory in his gut. He breath was coming in short pants. Was he going into shock? 

“Getting you out of here, Daniel.” It was Rorschach leaning over him this time. Even through his own agony he could see that the other man was moving slowly. 

Dan licked dry lips. “Hurt.”

“I know,” Rorschach grunted. “You’ll have to bear it. Not safe here.”

Dan started to shake his head - he’d meant that Rorschach was hurt - but the room tilted alarmingly and he concentrated on not upending the contents of his stomach. 

The redhead grabbed one of Dan’s arms and Dan had an instant of panic thinking that Rorschach meant to jerk him to his feet. He was dragged instead a foot to his right over onto a tarp. The pain of that was still enough to rattle his senses.

“Sorry,” Rorschach bit out. “Can’t take it out. You’ll bleed to death.”

Dan nodded. Even with the rebar still in place, that was an awful lot of blood soaked into his uniform.

_________________________________

 

When Dan awoke the next morning - evening, as it turned out - it was to a foul smell. He wrinkled his nose before finally prying his eyelids open to the harsh reality of pain. Not as much pain as he would have anticipated, though. Not with that wound. He glanced down at the weight on his chest and realized that somewhere along the line Rorschach had not only gotten them out of that damned warehouse, the man had cut away his Nite Owl suit and stitched and dressed his wound. And then passed out on top of him. Jesus, the guy smelled bad. 

He shifted without throwing the other man off and nearly laughed when he finally took in his surroundings. They were at an animal hospital. There was a small, pitiful looking cat with one paw in a cast staring at them unblinking. “Good morning to you too,” he muttered.

He shifted again, getting a feel for how manageable his pain was. There were a few twinges that took his breath away but all things considered … he should definitely be in more pain. Unless of course … ah, yes. There. A used syringe lying not two feet from them. Rorschach had given him pain meds meant for animals. Wonderful. It was a good thing he had managed to wake up at all. He’d probably been doped to the gills, no wonder he’d slept so long. He hoped no one would show up to check on the cat. 

The next thing he noticed was his bladder sending him a very urgent news bulletin. Shit. He shifted and turned his upper body to deposit Rorschach on the floor, intending to get himself to his feet. He only managed to turn his upper body when his stitches pulled and he gasped, pain shooting out in spiderwebs from the very-newly-patched hole in his side. The room began to spin in dizzying waves once again and he groaned. 

The next second Rorschach was on his feet, a curved, deadly blade glinting in his hand.

Dan was too busy trying to simultaneously breathe and not heave to answer Rorschach’s questioning look - he never had figured out how that damned mask was able to express Rorschach’s thoughts. The ones he wanted to express, anyway.

After a tense moment the other man relaxed - as much as he ever relaxed - and knelt down. He was moving stiffly again after that short burst of adrenaline. “Let me see,” he rasped.

Nite Owl didn’t try to argue. Rorschach was the one who didn’t trust anyone, Dan was perfectly happy to accept help. Even if his partner saw him as weak for it. Together they were able to maneuver Dan onto a high-backed green, plastic chair.

Rorschach grunted unhappily. “Pulled some stitches. Need to fix.”

Fuck. Dan closed his eyes and tipped his head back. That would definitely hurt. Then again, how much of a difference would it make? He was already in painsville.

“Be back, don’t move.”

The other man was gone before Dan opened his eyes. 

He must have dozed for a moment because he didn’t hear Rorschach return.

A bare hand held out two small pills. “Can’t give you anything stronger. Gave you too much, already.” Dan stared, strangely transfixed by that bare, white hand - probably the drugs he was still on - but he couldn’t remember the last time Rorschach had willingly taken off any article of clothing. “Better than nothing,” Rorschach growled, mistaking Dan’s distraction for dismay.

He took the pills mutely and swallowed them down dry. “Thanks.” He braced himself - knowing it would only hurt more - and waited for the pain to start again.

Instead, Rorschach moved a few feet away to the bright blue counter. He was moving very deliberately, holding himself rigidly.

“You’re injured,” Dan remembered, straightening suddenly. He winced when the movement pulled at his wound.

Rorschach did not look back. He was rummaging and finally pulled a needle and thread from a small mound of supplies. “Nothing new,” he muttered. He deftly threaded the needle with the ease of long practice. 

Dan exhaled sharply when the shorter man shrugged off his overcoat. “Jesus. How are you even standing? You’re covered in blood.”

The previously white shirt looked nearly black from the amount of gore. 

Rorschach yanked the thing off like it offended him. “Not my blood,” he muttered angrily. “Yours.”

Oh. Still, there was no doubt Rorschach was injured. “Let me see.”

Finally Rorschach glanced at him. There were flecks of blood on the mask. “Nothing to see.” 

Dan glared.

The swirls of Rorschach's mask glared back. He had a hand up against his left side, turned away from Dan and was already working the needle into his flesh.

Dan stood, huffing in pain.

“Sit down, Daniel.”

Dan ignored him and walked around to Rorschach’s other side. Rorschach had a needle in one hand and a hanging square patch of bloody flesh that he was stitching back onto the muscle of his side in the other.

“God.” Dan looked away, feeling sick. “Did you at least use anesthesia?” He glanced back, unable to keep his gaze away.

“Helpless,” Rorschach dismissed.

Dan moved back and gripped the edge of the chair to keep from shaking the smaller man. “So use a goddamn local,” he barked. 

Rorschach had gotten them both to safety, even while hurt, and was now stitching himself up without any numbing agent. Meanwhile Dan’s fucking contribution so far had been getting stabbed with rebar and passing out. Christ.

Rorschach was staring at him blankly. “If it matters to you …”

“Yes, it does,” he answered tightly.

After a tense minute Rorschach went and grabbed the supplies. He walked back and shoved the syringe at Daniel. “Here.” He was still holding the needle threaded into his skin. 

It took a moment for him to realize what Rorschach wanted. “Uh ..”

“Will be quicker,” Rorschach grunted, shoving the local at him.

“Right.” His hands were shaking on the syringe. He knew Rorschach could see that. This felt like a hell of a lot more than just helping apply some anesthetic. It felt like Rorschach was letting his guard down - purposefully baring his throat. It felt like trust. Dan’s hands clenched. 

Dan was pretty sure the local hadn’t even kicked in when Rorschach finished stitching himself up. He walked to the sink and washed his hands, nodding over to Daniel. “Ready?”

Dan nodded, though the last thing he wanted was more pain. Better to get it over with. Rorschach took him at his word and cleaned the needle before re-threading it. He glanced at Nite Owl, expression unreadable. “Sorry,” he muttered.

It shocked Dan enough that he hardly felt the first poke of the needle into his flesh. Rorschach was quick and efficient, nothing out of the ordinary though Dan was still mulling over that quiet “sorry,” as Rorschach worked.

They stayed at the little vet clinic only long enough for Dan to clean the blood and grime off his face and find some scrubs to wear. They would be conspicuous enough without both of them looking like they’d been through a meat grinder.

Rorschach helped him get dressed. Hands that carelessly and gleefully cracked criminals’ skulls came into very close contact with very fragile parts of Dan’s anatomy. He blocked that out.

“Shit. I left Archie out in the open.”

“Did what I could to camouflage it,” Rorschach said. He continued packing up the meagre amount of pain medication he found after scavenging a second time.

“Oh,” Nite Owl relaxed a fraction. One more thing he hadn’t been able to do. Maybe Rorschach was right, he’d gotten soft. Worse, he’d gotten useless. And that meant he was a liability. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for the superhero business anymore - if that’s what they still were. The amount of blood on his uniform at the end of a shift sometimes made him wonder.

He glanced up to see Rorschach studying him.

“You don’t remember.”

Dan frowned. “Remember what?”

The other man stared at Dan for so long Dan started counting the seconds in his head. The ink-black splotches on Rorschach’s mask shifted and faded in mesmerizing patterns. He seemed to be trying to puzzle something out. Finally he shook his head and walked over to Nite Owl, grabbing his arm and pulling it over his shoulders. “No time,” he mumbled. “Let’s go.”

 

_________________________________

 

Dan half-stumbled and was half-dragged past the threshold of his brownstone. He had broken into a cold sweat, was nauseous, had a headache that was splitting his skull and he was fairly sure he’d blacked out at one point. He’d come to leaning against a crumbling brick wall with Rorschach gripping his arms bitingly and yelling his name. 

The air-conditioned apartment provided a welcome cooling to his overheated skin. 

Rorschach was staring at him, seemingly ready for Dan to keel over. “Can you make it upstairs?”

Dan nearly laughed. Good God, of course he couldn’t. He didn’t think he’d make it to his couch, much less manage more steps.

“I’ll stay downstairs,” he gasped, closing his eyes and leaning heavily on the smooth wood of the door.

“No.” 

Dan’s eyelids popped open, indignant but he was distracted by Rorschach suddenly standing so close.

“Concussion,” was the other man’s stellar diagnosis.

“I don’t care if it’s Varicella Disease, I’m staying down here.”

Rorschach didn’t bother to argue and hauled Dan upright then kept pulling until Dan was walking toward the stairs. He ignored the bitter, pained cursing. “Bed.”

It was slow, snail-like progress that still left Dan sweaty and shaking. If Dan hadn’t been on the verge of passing out he would have wondered at Rorschach’s patience. It took a good ten minutes to climb a handful of steps but Dan had to admit that he felt better as his body sank onto the bed. 

“Thank you,” he managed, feeling guilty.

Rorschach was panting lightly when he turned away. Dan bit his lip, and kept his mouth shut knowing his concern wouln’t be welcome, but he was familiar with those jerky movements, knew the other man was also in pain.

He rested his head back against the stack of white pillows and willed himself to sleep. The bed dipped at his feet and Dan’s eyelids sprung open, stunned. 

“Need rest,” Rorschach murmured, at his look, though his back was tense.

Right. Of course. Dan tried regaining his sense of peace but now that he felt safe in comfortable surroundings his senses were giving him input other than pain. Such as his sense of smell. Dan felt his stomach roll distressingly.

“Rorschach, don’t you need to get back to your apartment? Or wherever it is you live now?”

Rorschach glanced up, the black whorls on his mask looking strangely hurt. God, it’s not like Dan was trying to be ass after the man had saved his life but that smell …

“Dressing will need changed soon,” Rorschach stated, nodding toward Dan’s wound.

“Oh. Right.” 

The other man stood stiffly. “May I use your shower, Daniel?”

Dan froze where he’d been poking at his stitches, trying to determine if he was still in one piece. They ached like a son of a bitch. “What? … yeah. Yes. Of course.” He swallowed, feeling like an asshole. “But you don’t have to for my sake.”

Rorschach had turned his back to the bed. “...bloody.”

Dan nodded vigorously. “Right, sure. You probably wanna get that off.”

Rorschach hunched defensively. “Bothers you.”

“Uhh … you still don’t have to-”

The other man spun and stomped off, headed for the bathroom. 

Given the amount of drugs he was on, it didn’t occur to him to wonder what Rorschach planned on wearing after his shower until the man walked back into his bedroom stark naked. And without his mask. It made him seem even more naked somehow. It was almost shocking to see his face after Dan had gotten so adept at reading the emotions behind the mask.

“Need clothes, Daniel.”

Dan stared. And kept staring until he saw Rorschach’s hands twitch self-consciously towards his cock. Dan jerked his gaze away like he’d been burned. “Middle drawer,” he said too loudly, face flushed.

After a moment Walter moved to the chest that sat next to the bed. He was limping slightly. 

Dan frowned. “How are your ribs?”

The redhead shrugged without pausing in his rooting. “Not broken.”

Dan studied him from his position propped up on his pillows. Wet, red hair was sticking up at all angles, freckles spattered across a narrow nose with thin lips and an equally thin body that was nonetheless all deadly sharp angles. He couldn’t quite believe Rorschach had left the mask off and again Dan felt like he was teetering on the edge of some revelation. 

“Staring, Daniel,” Rorschach said softly. He was tense, gripping a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in his fist. Still naked. Dan didn’t let his eyes wander again.

“Sorry.” The other man didn’t look like the terror of the underworld now. He looked like Walter Kovacs. “They said - on the television - that your name is Walter Kovacs.”

Rorschach sneered. He dumped the shirt on the bed and shook out the soft grey pants, bending over to slip them on. 

Dan looked up, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Rorschach hated nudity, hated anything that even breathed of indecency and hated having his mask off most of all. If Dan’s head wasn’t spinning he may have been able to grasp what it meant that the other man was allowing himself to be naked - literally and figuratively. “Can I call you Walter? When you’re out of the mask, I mean.”

Rorschach shrugged. “Pointless. Not my real name.”

No, Dan supposed not. Rorschach seemed to have nearly wiped out Walter Kovacs completely.

He jerked his gaze back to Rorschach when the other man walked out of the bedroom. “Where are you going? Take the spare bedroom - you need to convalesce.”

“Need food.” Rorschach called back.

Oh. Well, now that Rorschach mentioned it, he was starving. His empty stomach gurgled unhappily. Dan didn’t move. He’d stay hungry rather than try to tackle the stairs on his own. He really should have stayed on the couch downstairs.

A moment later loud clanging and rummaging drifted up from the kitchen. He hoped Rorschach remembered to lock the front door when he left.

Twenty minutes later, just as Dan was reluctantly drifting off, he jerked back to awareness as Rorschach stepped into the room. He was juggling two mismatched bowls and a glass of water.

“Need to eat, Daniel.”

Dan stared. It was becoming a habit. “You brought me food?” He caught the steaming bowl Rorschach dropped onto his lap. Rorschach had found more of his canned beans. Except - “You heated them,” Dan said blankly.

Walter shrugged and set down the other bowl - filled with fruit - and the water on the nightstand.

“Where’s yours?” he asked. His stomach had recognized food was near and growled loudly.

“Ate already.”

Cold beans right out of the can, no doubt. Because Rorschach couldn’t let himself have any pleasures. No matter how small.

He picked up the spoon and slowly began to feed himself. The multiple contusions all along his back and ass were starting to kick up a fuss now. Nite Owl wasn’t quite so good at shrugging off injuries anymore. 

Despite how hungry he was he could only get down about half the bowl before he grimaced and shoved it onto the nightstand.

“Not enough,” Walter said gruffly coming to inspect what he’d eaten. 

Some part of Dan was wondering if maybe he was hallucinating all of this. Maybe he was still lying on cold steel in the warehouse. Maybe he was dead. Maybe Rorschach was. But no, pain had to be a prerogative of the living.

“I haven’t even said thank you,” he murmured, fighting off drowsiness.

Rorschach shrugged that off impatiently. “No need,” he said curtly.

“You saved my life,” he insisted, and reached out to grab Walter’s arm. Probably not the smartest move given what a prickly bastard Rorschach could be. He was blaming it on the drugs.

The other man made a noise like a furious, wounded animal and knocked him back into the bed. “No, Daniel. You saved my life. Don’t remember. Took a filed down piece of rebar made into a weapon to the gut - it was meant for me. You pushed me out of the way.” Walter began pacing, sharp jerks of movement that contained the edge of violence. “Could only watch. You were stabbed. I fell fifteen feet and you took a metal pipe to the head.” Rorschach moved back toward the bed, shaking and face flushed. He glared into Daniel’s eyes until he abruptly seemed to realize they were only inches apart, both breathing heavily into each other’s faces. Suddenly self-conscious he shoved away from the bed. “Why, Daniel? Trying to understand. Why?”

Dan took a shaky breath. If the clenching and unclenching of Rorschach’s fists was anything to go by, the other man wasn’t at his most stable. And that was saying something. “I care about you. Of course I’m going to try to help you.”

“Could have died!” Rorschach snarled.

Dan placed his hand over the wound without thinking, watching as Rorschach’s eyes followed the movement. “I guess so, but that’s what we do, right? We take care of each other.”

The redhead continued pacing. “Don’t need you. Did fine on my own.” 

“I know.” Dan swallowed painfully. “I’m the one who needs you.”

Walter shook his head fiercely before falling completely still. It was long moments before he appeared to calm again. Rorschach stepped away. “Rest,” he said shortly, sounding more like his old self. 

Dan meant to ask if Rorschach was going to stay. He was going to offer his guest room again but everything was getting muddled and vague. Had Walter put something in his food? He relaxed back against his sheets and was fast asleep before Rorschach made it to the door.


End file.
